Perso Fiore
by Shukuga
Summary: During 1942, Felicia Vargas suffers a miscarriage. How will she deal with the loss, and how will it affect her relationship with Ludwig? Includes Renaissance, N./S. Italy, Spain, Prussia, France, Germany and more. Based on the poem Home Burial by Robert Frost.


She had felt the tugging in the pit of her stomach when she woke up. Not that the pain had been new; it had been a dull ache since before she retired for the evening the night before, dull pangs on her lower back and a grating at her hips.

Instinct told her that something was wrong. And when she threw back the cover and saw red blooming around her like the poppies in her garden, Feli stared for a moment before trudging to the bathroom in shock. She clicked the lock in place.

Putting the shower on, she entered, frigid water hitting her back. Once the water heated up, fog covered the glass and steam blurred her vision. Felicia Vargas still saw the pink water running down the drain.

Clutching her stomach so hard it left marks, Feli fought the feeling of gravity. Leaning against the tile, she grasped and clung to the life she felt leaving her.

By the time that the pain was gone, the water had turned cold. She would cycle through spasming for a few moments and then breathing shallowly, slowly, trying to keep control. To catch the grains of sand running through her fingers, the last rays of sunset to keep from descending behind the mountains dotting the landscape. It didn't matter, though; in the end, the child was lost.

Lying on the cool tile for hours, Felicia wrapped her arms still around her midsection. She was going to have to get up soon, and clean herself up, she knew. But she couldn't come to terms with the blood still drying on her thighs, the unmentionable failure that shared the stall with her. She turned and retched.

A knock jarred her awake, and she realized that Ludwig was home.

"Feli? How are you?"

"No no no no no..." Felicia mumbled under her breath, shame washing over her at the vomit on the floor next to her and the blood and the...and the...

Feli jerked up, turning the shower back on. She cleaned up the bile, but could not even look in the general direction of...

The door swung open, and Felicia saw Ludwig blush lightly at the italian's nakedness. Worry crossed his face as he realized that she looked so helpless. Then he noticed the blood.

Grabbing a towel, Ludwig knelt down to wrap his petite wife. His arms enveloped her, and she relaxed in his hold. Ludwig squatted, smoothing her hair and making small soothing noises. He placed his hands underneath her, and brought her to the bed, where he laid her down gently. Placing one of his white undershirts on her, he moved in beside her, covering her in blankets. Felicia was shivering, her hair dampening the pillow her head rested on.

They sat there in silence for a few minutes, Ludwig not knowing how to approach the subject. Poor Feli...he worried about how long she had been in the bathroom, as he had been gone for the last eight hours. Why hadn't she gotten up, or called for staff to help?

Germany heard a whimper, and turned to look at Felicia. Tears streaked her face, as she shook silently.

"G...Germany?I'm sorry..." she stated, in a whisper.

"What, Feli? There is nothing you could have-" Germany's voice grew in desperation, trying to convey the sadness he felt at his wife's statement.

"He...he rejected me...he wouldn't stay...he didn't want me..." at this, Felicia's face scrunched up in pain. Voice thick, the thing closest to tears he would not shed, Ludwig asked,

"He?"

"I failed our son, Ludwig..."

And thus, Ludwig learned the gender of his first child.

Felicia became aware of her floating in a cool, dark place. This must be the ocean, Felicia realized. Her hair ballooned out around her and the floor length white nightgown she wore billowed out behind her. She looked as if she was dancing in the currents, swaying in the ocean's pull.

As gravity pulled her downwards, into the inky blackness, Feli tumbled and swam in the currents. Oh, how wonderfully colored the silver fish streamlining past her looked! Little bullets, shot from imaginary guns.

While she giggled, Felicia saw a sparkling in the thick, muddy abyss. But that was impossible- she could see no better than if she had a black veil over her vision, or a mask on her eyes. Still she saw the glimmer on the ocean's bed, and reached for it.

Hands clutched the muck and sticks and other debris, closing around a small, round object. A marble, possibly? Upon further inspection, Felicia realized it was a small pearl. It glowed brightly, and she pressed it against her stomach, where it disappeared. Her midsection glowed brightly, and laughter bubbled up out of her. She was with child. Hers and Germany's.

Roused from sleep in excitement, the brunette clambered over the bed to the stand, where she called her sister, Lovina.

"Ciao, Lovi!"(Hello,Lovi!)

"Che cazzo, Feli?Sono le sei del matitino!"(What the fuck,Feli? It's 6 am!)

"Me dispiace, sorella. Ma, sono insincta!"(Sorry, sis. But, I'm pregnant!)

"Be cazzo whoop de-aspetta, cosa?"(Whoop de fucking-wait,what?)

At this point, Felicia switched to english.

"It is so exciting, right? And we'll paint the nursery and buy a little bassinet-oh, do you know where Nonno's rocking chair is? The attic, perhaps? And we're going to christen the little Bambino-"

The no longer sleeping figure in the bed heard snippets of the conversation, listening to the tittering of his wife:

Nursery. Bassinet. Bambino.

Didn't bambino mean baby?

Finishing her conversation with Lovina, the Italian spun around and ran to the bed, jumping in and kissing Ludwig with fervence.

"Oh, Ludwig! I love you!"

"What...were you talking about?"

"I'm pregnant!"

"Since when?" he asked in slight unease. Was he ready to be a father? There was so much to do. He would need clothes, a room… and what about all the parenting pamphlets he would have to read? Germany was relatively sure that Germania's no-nonsense and slightly (okay, incredibly) authoritarian parenting style was not the norm- and most definitely not the best method. Prussia was a poster child for how, sometimes, you can't force… civility.

"A few hours!"

No matter how much Germany tried to convince Felicia of the impossibility of her being pregnant, Lovina held a steadfast belief in her being with child.

"Ve~I can feel it, Ludwig! Our baby!" and she would place his hand upon her midsection, nearly bursting in anticipation. And although nothing happened, she refused to listen to sense.

And when a very regular Felicia ended up an hour late, she saw fit to buy a pregnancy test. To everyone's amusement and Germany's surprise, she was, in fact, pregnant. Due nine months exactly from the day of her dream.

Why did he kiss her? Germany didn't know. He hadn't even realized that he liked her when he first did. Kiss her, that is. And the entire situation was everything Ludwig was not- brave, rash, impulsive. He had been called brave before, but he was not brave-braveness was a lack of fear. He feared everything- losing her most of all.

It was a Friday or Sunday or Thursday, and Felicia was over Germany's house. Some victory or pact was being celebrated between the two of them, and he had his fill of beer. The lights were muted, and the alcohol ebbing through his blood distanced him from himself, brought him closer to her.

"You know they say when you die, you have five minutes of brain activity left?"

At which point the conversation had turned from sports and food to death Germany did not know. But his inebriation left him in a bit of a stupor; and so he just stared at the brunette, who looked at him.

"Your mind supposedly plays through all your memories-continuously, from moment of birth to death. All in five minutes-everything you've ever done." She pauses for a moment, taking a hearty sip of vino from the glass. Looking at the now empty glass and filling it, humming to herself all the while.

"I don't know about you, but I don't see that as fair. Humans live for a hundred years, maximum. And a dragonfly lives for twenty four hours before dying .But China is thousands of years old." Felicia's eyebrows knit together in contemplation.

"Memory time should be relative to memory, right?" At this, Ludwig merely smiled at her.

"Ve ~Germany, are you paying attention?"

Her face was half scrunched in laughter and the alcohol had colored her tan cheeks, but in that moment, in the muted light and fractured sound of his drunkenness, she was beautiful. Maybe she had always been. And when he had grunted in reply as always, she had given him a knowing look; eyes that widened as he closed the gap between him.

One, two, three. Hold your breath.

He was dizzy and she tasted like fermented grapes and the honey and fig she had been eating earlier.

Ludwig hated sweets. Impractical, costly, and they ruined the body. On her breath, though, it tasted much milder and slightly nutty.

He wouldn't mind it, if it was from her.

"Feli, Feli...dammit, Feli! Pay attention!"

Turning her head, Felicia nearly hit the face of a very red Lovina Vargas. Not that it would have been her fault; her sister had placed herself mere inches from her twin.

"Sorry..."

"Damn right, you should be sorry! Who do you think you are, ignoring your duties as a country?"

Felicia looked at her sister. She wore a knee length dress, red with yellow and green flowers on the fabric. Her dark brown hair fell, loose and wavy, to the small of her back. Her lips were slightly pursed, analyzing her. Felicia didn't like that look. It seemed to be the only look her husband or the servants gave her. Well, that was a lie. There were also the looks of pity and worry Ludwig shot her when he thought she wasn't looking. It made her stomach churn.

Although her words were sharp and her gaze hard, Lovi's eyes were wide. She was frightened for her sorella, enough to warrant her traveling a few hours to Germany's house.

"You can't do this much longer, Feli. Your people are worried...some are gossiping. They say you're..." Lovina's voice dropped to a whisper. "Like mama was...that you're..." she swallowed hard, "Depressed. But you're not, for fuck's sake!"

Mama. She would never be one. Not to the dead little boy in the grave on the Beilschmidt cemetery. Felicia could see the plot from the stairwell. She looked out there, when Germany was gone or busy with work.

Felicia smiled wanly. "Mama wasn't depressed, Lovi. You know she wasn't."

"She was a bitch is what she was!" Felicia drew in a sharp breath, and stared at Lovina. Anger and fear had reddened her face.

"Don't disrespect her, Lovina. She was your mother."

"She was a crazy excuse of one," Lovina mumbled into her lap. She looked up at Felicia's stricken expression, and backtracked.

"Let's stop talking about that. What's important is that you're good. Are you?"

"Si, sorella. I'll be back to work in a week or so. The doctor says I'll be fine by then." Lovina nearly exhaled in relief. Feeling the unease of their strained relationship settle in now that she had done her duty, Lovina felt a niggling in the back of her brain. She wanted to get out, and quickly.

"Ciao, sorella. Don't do anything stupid." Felicia giggled in reply.

"Si, sorella."

Lovina entered the apartment she grudgingly shared with Antonio. Times were tough, after all. It wasn't like she enjoyed sharing the bastard's bed or anything...

Setting the paper bag of groceries on the granite countertop, Lovina set to taking the items out of the bag. Tomatoes, milk, bread, cheese, more tomatoes... caught up in the action, she jumped slightly when she felt a hand on her arm.

"How was she?"

"Che- don't sneak up on me, bastard!" In reply, he wordlessly set about the task of emptying the remaining paper bag, gathering the items to place in the fridge and pantry, respectively. Seeing Antonio finishing her job, she went to the cupboard, where she pulled out a wine glass. Rummaging underneath, she brought out a new bottle of red wine. Sighing, she pulled her hair into a ponytail and poured some wine into the glass.

"I don't know," she said after a minute. Taking a pensive sip, she continued.

"She's acting just like mama did sometimes. It's scary." Shaking her head, she finished the glass. All this stress was giving her a damn headache.

"Lovi..."

"Mmm?"

"If you don't mind saying, what was your mother like?"

Back still to Antonio, Lovina pursed her lips. She wasn't able to separate the thoughts of her mother from the sickening dread and general feeling of hopelessness that followed her for most of her childhood and adolescence. And since she hated feeling powerless more than anything, she would become enraged. That or bullshit bravery. She gripped the counter, using it as an anchor.

Arms circled her back and Antonio place his head on the crook of her neck.

"You don't have to talk about her if she worries you. Forget I asked."

"No." Lovina wasn't even sure what she was thinking until she said it.

"Mama...had problems."

The sound of slamming doors, of shouts and curses and vile words were ringing in Lovina's ear. She held her younger sister close, no older than a physical year; buried her head in the downy auburn tufts of her hair, breathing in deeply. There was something homey about Felicia's scent- something reminiscent of sunshine and wildflowers and the soft smell of milk that cloyingly stuck to all bambinos. Felicia seemed to be the epitome of happiness itself, she mused. Her name was quite fitting.

"Riesa, no more! I am to take them!" It was their Nonno, Lovi realized; he called her little Roma, and always seemed to be smiling. But he didn't seem very happy now.

"You are to deny me my children?" Mama's voice was rising to hysterics.

"Not as if you are fit to parent then- you did not raise from your bed for three days, and then when you did, it was to fool around with that damn Michelangelo!"

"Do not speak as if you are pious. You were known as a whore yourself, father!" A sharp intake of breath; although Lovina couldn't see them, she bet they were panting and red faced.

"That is not the issue here! You are not fit to be a parent!" She heard the door open, and Nonno swept in, cape trailing behind him. Mama followed behind. With a flick of his wrist, both girls were carried, embraced in his strong, golden arms; Lovina hugging Nonno's chest, Felicia hugging Lovina's. Mama's sobs grew to a crescendo; and even red-faced and squinty eyed, she was the most attractive and pure thing in the world. Only the adult Felicia was close to her in beauty. Lovina paled in comparison, with thicker bones and darker skin, and although her eyes were a pretty hazel, they lacked the warmth the other two women shared.

As Nonno turned to leave the house, Riesa punched and hit his back, trying to get the children back. It soon deescalated to her scratching at his back in rage.

"You are not my father! Father would not take my only children!"

"You are not my daughter," he replied at the entryway. "I did not raise someone so self-indulgent." She spit in his face at that, narrowly missing his eye.

"A thousand curses, you ass! To take the fruit I bore...you shall rot!"

He slammed the door, ignoring her splutters of profanities. His wide shoulders felt safe, and as he turned into a steady rhythm, she felt her eyelids grow heavy.

Breathe in breathe out

She hadn't expected, in the silence that ensued, for the clock to have been as loud as it had been. It was abrasive, really; and she wondered, for a moment, if it was the forty aspirin that she had swallowed that had given her a headache.

As she pretended to die, slowly losing feeling in the tips of her fingers, her hand, her wrist all the way up to her shoulders did she dare peek over at him. A quick flick of her eyes to the direction where he stood, gaze following her but glazed over. He was deep in thought. Of this she was glad.

Otherwise, there would have been questions. Questions were inevitable, it seemed. The questions that had crawled into her ears, laid eggs in her ear and screeched the same questions over and over had been part of the reason. But now she had failed-again- now she had yet another thing to add to the never-ending list of fuckups Lovina had done over the years, and she had to answer the very thing she had been so desperate to escape. The irony was delicious.

Caught in her own mindfuck, she didn't notice the glaze had left his eyes- no longer did they look like the Heineken glass washed up on the beach sometimes, smooth from its erosion. It was the color of the grass just after it rained, vibrant and inviting. His eyes didn't look inviting, though- they looked sad, confused, and more than a little bit hurt. Lovina thought about the jagged edges of the beer bottle beaten against until it became a small, docile fragment. She couldn't help but wonder if she'd be granted the same mercy.

"Why?" It was a simple enough question; lord knows it required no real amount of effort to bullshit an answer. She could have blamed it on one thing easily enough- the recession, the lack of respect from other countries, even claim it being Spain's indifference that had pushed her over the edge. But that was a lie- she had been a mess before the recession, didn't give a damn about the other nations, and had been growing apart from Spain for a long time. The separation was inevitable. In the small hospital room, the awkwardness of his absence was almost palpable; as was the ache, deep in her chest.

The truth was unknown. Lovina didn't know, and that scared her. She couldn't find answers to any of the questions and nothing was right. She was alone, and had been a while; what had pushed her over the edge? Other than the accumulating factors of her life, which she was used to by now. When push came to shove was the answer… but what was the push factor?

Maybe it had been the war, or how strict Mussolini had been as of late; but Lovina had dealt with war before. She could deal with Mussolini. What else had been changed? With the subtlety of a wall, it hit her; Felicia had told her she was dating Ludwig for six months now, while she was in a half drunken stupor.

As Feli prattled on about wurst and how the war was going to change the world, Lovina felt a horrible sense of foreboding. She was alone, and was going to end up alone. Being the control freak she was, Lovina didn't like the sound of her life-many millennia was left, surely- being that empty, that lacking of hope or joy or happiness. Lovina, contrary to popular belief, wanted to be happy. She just had a really shitty way of showing it. So, a few drinks and an admittedly drunk mind later, she had decided to take the reins of life back into her own hands, by downing a bottle of aspirin.

Six hours, a stomach pump and a few worried phone calls later, she was in the white hospital room in a little Italian village, skin red from the abrasive blankets and eyes watering from the stench of cleaning alcohol. It was repugnant. Realizing she had yet to answer the question, although nearly ten minutes had passed. Antonio didn't look perturbed, however; it was not like him to become angered. He merely stared at her intently, wearing a look much more serious than she had seen in a long time. It seemed staring was all they had been doing.

"It was…hasty. But, it is nothing to be concerned about." She just wanted to be alone; to sleep in the bed and then return home, avoiding Felicia's worried glances until things returned to a state of semi-normalcy. It wasn't the first time something like this had happened; she had forgotten, as she had a few times before, that a nation couldn't die by their own hands. Lovina felt as if she were such a stupid little shit sometimes.

"Lovi, tell me, please…" He was pleading with her, and she wanted to tell. But things had been fractured for far too long, and she didn't want to speak to someone who felt like a stranger any more than she wanted to speak to her sister- at all.

With a grunt of stubbornness and the refusal to meet Antonio's eyes, she turned on her side and closed her eyes. She didn't need help- she could help herself, god dammit. And anyone who said otherwise could rot in hell for all she was concerned.

Many people seemed confused as to why Lovina Vargas seemed to be in a constant state of rage. They couldn't comprehend what could twist the girl so tightly, so tensely, leaving her with shoulders too taut and a tongue to sharp, gaze much more steeled than was necessary.

It wasn't so much the bad things in the world. Lovina knew the badness was inevitable, as was the good. Things came to balance, becoming a constant state of neutrality. Bring out the worst, the best will follow. Try to squash the big things, it's the small stuff you overlook that bites you in the ass.

What she found to be insufferable was how very few things were truly bad. Granting her logic, she shouldn't be surprised; very few things were truly good. But so many bad things had happened through good intentions or lack of knowledge or forgetfulness. And when it mutated into this big, ugly thing that scarred and severed people, no one was really to blame. Petty, clichéd, and worst of all, predictable.

It was like that with her sister. Whenever she was around the mild mannered, good natured and sweet thing, something dark inside her started grating at her. When she was younger, she thought he hated Felicia. Hate her sister or hate herself.

And so she had, for a very long time. Kept her away, even though Felicia had done nothing wrong. The same thing that made her want to keep Feli away for the sake of self-preservation brought up the fact that the same somewhat-meanness of coldness Nonno held towards Lovina was not much different than what he was doing to his own sister-her baby sister.

Which, of course, made her feel bad, making her not want to see Felicia at all, which just exacerbated the problem. As smart as Lovina was- and she was no idiota- her mind still ran in circles, maintaining the same outcome. Every. Damn. Time.

So Lovina graduated all of the malevolent feelings onto Nonno, who she really didn't dislike at all. Blame for screwing with her and being really shitty by showing favorites? Yes. But she admired and respected the man too much to really hate him, and a small piece of her childhood yearned for his acceptance. Truth be told, it disgusted her.

Left with no other options, Lovina turned to the only other person to hate- herself. She was sneaky about it, though- never out right saying 'I hate myself' at first because, as pathetic as she still was, she didn't want to die. And without liking yourself, what's the reason for living?

Not even fully realizing the extent of self-hatred, she began to burn bridges, develop a tongue so sharp people would want to keep away, build walls of brick and mortar and titanium, sealed with barbed wire. Hide behind a rough, uncaring exterior. As a means of defense, place landmines where someone might slip through the cracks.

Fear, distrust, lies became her motto. And with it, she began to feed off anger. When she pushed people away, she told herself it was because she was unlikeable, worthless. When she alienated herself from others, she claimed she deserved to be lonely.

And when she needed a point to resound the voices screaming in her head, she drew from the deep seeded inferiority. Look at you, with no friends- but what about Italia? With her smiling face, she has more friends then you'll ever have, because compared to her, you're worthless.

No, no, no, she would reply. But it was halfhearted at best, and in reality, she was really inferior in comparison to bright little Feli, right? But she could not, would not hate anyone but herself anymore, because she was tired of hurting others because she was a twisted little fuck.

So she tried to like herself, around the time she realized why she was so mean to others. To learn to deal with the disdain she saw towards himself. Antonio had helped, of course, with the whispered words of love and facade of stupidity to counterbalance her meanness. After the separation that grew between them after the turn of the twentieth century, she was tired. She was so tired of being mean to others, of being so cold; and one chilly fall day, while she bitched about the weather, he kissed her. And she kissed him back.

It was a slow, uphill battle; and sometimes, Lovina really wasn't so sure she was getting better. But her temper flared less. Being around Felicia, though, was a trigger- it sent her running, to hurt herself, to hurt anybody, because there's only so much anger and hopeless frustration that can be displaced before it needs another outlet.

And outlets? She had dozens of these so-called vices. Most obviously was the hurting others. Some had been less noticeable. Her tendency to get drunk and start fights was alarming. When someone wants to be punched in the face, they will seek out a fist. Even less so was her fluctuation of diet. In anger, she ate for hours until she had become engorged on dishes in the sister's shared fridge. In the resulting desperation, she starved. When she would slip up, she would work for hours to burn it off or purge until her throat was raw and she saw strings of blood in her vomit. When that wasn't enough, scratching and cutting and clawing and burning the tanned body of hers would do.

Self-mutilation is a funny thing, just as is self-hatred. They wore Lovina down, and she began to tire. Between bouts of barely controllable rage, she would lie in her bed for days. Staring out the window, ignoring her duties.

When Felicia tried to help, it just angered Lovina. Which merely made her more tired. Until she had spent over a month and a half straight sleeping.

She hated herself for slipping up, with Antonio helping her and Felicia being so caring. She had kept from hurting herself for two months when she heard. Marked on a little calendar, all in a purple pen. It hadn't been Felicia's pregnancy that had gotten her together; she had been doing better for a while by the time her sorella had called. But a nephew or niece looking up to her had been a reason for her to stay strong. She didn't want it to be a fuckup like she was-had been-right? Besides, with a father like Potato bastard and a mother like Felicia, the kid was going to need a somewhat normal role model.

So when Ludwig had called after two in the morning, Lovina had been on edge. No one called at two in the morning, especially Ludwig. Germans may be scary, but they were courteous.

"Ciao?" She heard him breathing into the receiver, and felt dread. Something was wrong- she knew it.

"She lost it." Before another word could be uttered, she slammed the phone down. This hadn't happened. No, it most certainly had not. And even as she spoon-fed herself the pretty little lies, she felt a sob claw its way out of her chest.

"No," Lovina wailed, sinking to the floor. The bambino… it wasn't even her own, but she had been so excited. Saw it as a will of God; there wasn't much to cling to for hope in 1942, of which she was certain. So why had this happened? Lovina wanted to throw something; sometimes, neutrality was unfair. It was almost better to never have something than to be given it, love it, grow accustomed to it, and have it be ripped back.

A click, and the door knob turned. Antonio stumbled in, yelling thanks to Francis and Gilbert through the hallway, turning to see Lovina crumpled on the floor.

"What happened?" She couldn't transpire what she had just been told for a moment, then realized: Gilbert didn't know.

"Antonio- the baby… the baby's gone." He looked at her for a moment, puzzled by her sentence. Then realization dawned on his face, inebriation replaced with a look of horror.

"Oh God…" Remembering what allowed her to speak, she said,

"Bring Gilbert here. I don't think he knows, does he?" Antonio managed to shake his head no, and rise unsteadily to his feet. Gaining momentum, he ran out of the ajar entry, shouting,

"Hey, Gil, wait!" When Lovina heard the sound of Gilbert walking back with Antonio, she felt relieved. Once she saw him there, in the room, stupid drunk grin on his face, she hated it. She knew that somewhere, a miracle had to be happening; a woman's life had been spared, along with her family of seven. Perhaps a man had rescued ten from a burning building, and himself as well. Maybe the war was over. Because otherwise, Lovina couldn't grasp how a world could stay neutral and fling this shit at them, at this time.

"Gilbert, did your brother call you?" In response, Gil shook his head,

"How should I know? I haven't been home yet." Breathing in, Antonio said,

"You may want to call him. Here, borrow our phone." As the phone rang, Gilbert looked languidly at his friends, as if accusing them of pranking him. When his brother answered, a small furrow began in his brow. After a few moments, he hung up after murmuring,

"I'll be there soon." Looking towards Giblert, Lovina saw a grief in his eyes that probably mirrored her own. Their gazes locked; realized their shared loss of a niece or nephew. She thought that she wasn't the only one who saw the baby as a chance to make something up, to repent for a transgression, maybe even a shred of hope.

"I-I have to go," Gilbert said, awkwardly turning and stiffly walking away. He was certainly in shock. Lovina sent a quick prayer to God, Jesus, Mary and Joseph for his safety; there had been enough tragedy tonight.

With this, I give you the first chapter of Perso Fiore(Lost flower)! I always thought miscarriages were sort of taboo, and God knows no one really talks about it. Women go on, living their lives, and everyone assumes that because no one talks about it it doesn't affect them. Loosely based on Home Burial by Robert Frost. If you have not read it, I implore you to do so; it will be a bit of a spoiler, though, truth be told. Made it Gerita because many men deal with grief in a very special way (i.e. ignore it). I could see Germany trying to be strong, and not understand how it would affect a very sad, depressed Felicia. Need to make her bitter, though…Riesa is Renaissance, by the way; means laughter in Latin. She doesn't seem very happy right now. I plan to update within month; sorry for being slow, but I want longer updates.


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